


When You Can't Get To Sleep

by Wireslide



Series: Fifty Ships [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: And two awesome boyfriends, Lance has nightmares, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-16 19:27:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16960104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wireslide/pseuds/Wireslide
Summary: Lance has a nightmare, and it's keeping his boyfriends awake. Hunk and Keith offer some comfort and distraction.





	When You Can't Get To Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written as part of a 50-50 prompt list.

A bony knee connected with his thigh for the third time in as many minutes. He grunted, carefully shifting the weight of the third restless occupant of the bed from his arm, and turned on his side to face the one thrashing around. “Lance,” he said quietly, settling a hand on the toned stomach. He could feel the muscles flinch beneath his touch, and sighed. “Lance, wake up, you're dreaming.” He shook his hand, rocking the other man faintly. He managed to block the next thrown knee with his own.

  
“Let me try,” Keith's voice was rough with lack of sleep, and he climbed over Hunk with little trouble to settle astride Lance's thrashing legs. He leaned down to Lance's face and pressed a kiss to his forehead, then each cheekbone, then the tip of his nose, and finally, lightly, on the lips. He repeated the gestures as the darker young man's struggles against his dreams slowed, then ceased. When he leaned back, it was to smile shyly into befuddled blue eyes. “You were dreaming again,” he informed Lance quietly, “and Hunk shouldn't have to be the soccer ball in the World Cup.” He started to head back to his spot on the far side of Hunk, only stopping because his thighs were suddenly gripped in thin, icy fingers. “Lance?”

“Not the World Cup,” the Cuban whispered hoarsely.

“Hey,” Hunk leaned in, giving Lance little kisses on the cheek until he turned his head, then kissing his slightly dry lips long and slow. He dragged the kiss on, mouths opening to share breath, as Lance's mouth warmed beneath his. Long fingers buried in the thick mass of black hair when Hunk tried to pull back, a trace of desperation in the grip at his scalp. By the time Lance let him up for air, even Hunk's ocean-trained lungs were straining slightly. The thin man beneath Keith gasped for breath, rolling his hips upward to force an answering gasp from the half-Galra straddling him. Hunk watched Keith's pale fingers dig into the darker skin of Lance's belly from the corner of his eye, stroking the soft brown hair away from Lance's face. “Yeah?”

Lance bit the corner of his mouth, feeling it pull into a smile at all the questions Hunk managed to fit into that one word, in the slightly raised eyebrows and the concern mixed with the eagerness in his deep brown eyes. He looked away for a second, overwhelmed by the understanding he saw there, and studied Keith as well. There was confusion there in the blue-grey, concern, and that raw, barely-restrained craving for contact, for connection, that had always so appealed to him about the older man, even when they were teenagers. He wet his lips, looking back up at Hunk, tugging his head down again for another kiss. “Yeah,” he whispered back.

Keith leaned forward to press his forehead against Hunk's shoulder as the darker men kissed, stifling shudders and gasps while Lance's hips rolled beneath him. He panted against the coconut-scented muscle beneath his lips, then hissed when Hunk shifted to lift his head by the jaw. He pressed his neck into the curve of the bigger man's thumb, whining into Hunk's mouth at the sweet, delicate drag of soft lips against his. He pushed forward when Hunk retreated, choking himself slightly on the Samoan's restraining hand and rocking down against Lance in response. His eyes had fluttered closed, so he missed the quick glance that the other two shared, and was entirely unprepared when Lance splayed one hand across the back of his hips, looped the other arm around his shoulders, and flipped them. His breath left his lungs with a soft grunt, and returned in a high gasp as Lance rocked his hips down into him. He scrabbled at Lance's back with carefully-blunted nails, eyelids fluttering back open in time to see Hunk reaching into the drawer of the bedside table.

Lance watched Keith's eyes lock onto Hunk, the sharp white teeth sinking into his lower lip, that faint trepidation he always had when someone's attention turned away from him, even for a moment. They had learned early on that Keith was starved for every kind of affection, that physically preparing him for sex was often enough to get him off, and that it mortified him every time. Hunk had found the solution in one of the stores Coran had told them to avoid, but finding it in the drawer could be a challenge.

The lube slid across the sheets to rest against his knee, and the faint hissing sound the bottle made against the fabric snapped Keith's paling blue-grey eyes right back to him. He rolled his hips down again, leaning in to lock his mouth over the small, whimpered curses that followed. He pushed himself back enough to tug at Keith's briefs, encouraging the legs around his waist to unlock so that he could remove them without too much trouble. He got them off one long, pale leg before Keith decided that was enough and yanked him back down. He let himself be pulled with a voiceless laugh, pushing his upper half up so that Keith would have the leverage to grind against the shifting fabric of Lance's thin boxers. He watched the deepening flush of Keith's wide cheeks with satisfaction, then carefully lowered himself back down to kiss him again.

Hunk's hand skimming over his back pulled him out of the Keith-induced daze of just grinding and making out like they were teenagers again, and he gave the darker-skinned man a hazy grin. Pulling back from Keith's legs a second time was harder—he'd locked his knees and he even growled a little when Hunk worked to uncross his ankles. The biggest of the three men silenced the growl by sliding a hand between his lovers and curling wet, calloused fingers around Keith's length. “Lube,” Hunk told him firmly, “or it's just me and Lance.” He reinforced the point by giving Lance a little smile and a long, drawn-out kiss.

Lance had to pant for air again when the kiss was over, and took a moment to settle his forehead against Hunk's shoulder while Keith slowly—and clearly reluctantly—unlocked the death grip his legs had around Lance's waist. He wriggled back and out of his boxers once he could move, then took a moment to appreciate the scene in front of him: Keith, legs spread, briefs dangling off one ankle, shaft slick and face red as Hunk murmured into his ear, the light curving over Hunk's back and rear, sinking into the black tattoos along his shoulders. He shifted back a little further, pressing a kiss to the base of Hunk's spine and licking at the sweat beading in the dimples there. He was rewarded with the sound of Hunk letting out a heavy, hard breath, and the larger man taking his place between Keith's legs.

Hunk kept himself lower, and held up what he'd been searching for in the drawer. He gave Keith a questioning look as the older man whined. “Use your words, Keith,” he reminded him gently, “we communicate clearly, remember? No misunderstandings.”

  
It took several stammered swear words—Lance identified Japanese, Korean, and Portuguese—before Keith managed to get out, “f-fine. Ring me. Want...” he interrupted himself with a whine, but gritted his teeth to speak past it, “want to finish together.” He arched his back with a gasp as Hunk slid the ring down over his cock, shuddering as though even the action that was meant to prevent it would make him come. His eyes were closed, so he missed the immensely fond looks that both of his lovers gave him.

Lance dragged himself up the meaty length of Hunk's back, nuzzling behind his ear before nipping it. “Speaking of 'clear communication,' _meu guerreiro_ ,” he husked, only to have his head cupped so Hunk could give him another long kiss that left sparks in his eyes. He took a moment to remember how any language worked, laughing breathlessly against a coconut-scented shoulder. “Shit, man, I was on a roll.”

“Shut up and eat my ass like you were begging to,” the Samoan laughed back, breathing on his fingers to warm up the lube he'd pumped onto them. He waited to touch Keith again until he was satisfied with the temperature—and until Lance had nipped him on the rump for his commentary. He leaned forward on his knees, offering himself to Lance's mouth and sliding his slick fingers around and under Keith's testicles, then back. He let his forehead fall to the scarred ribs beneath him as Lance's teeth scraped the sensitive skin between his balls and his ass, then mimicked the motion on Keith with the edge of a fingernail. The half-breed bucked and clamped a hand over his own mouth to stifle a scream—that wouldn't do.

Hunk reached up, gently tugging Keith's hand away from his mouth and offering him his own, instead. The smaller man took the hint, dragging two of Hunk's fingers into his mouth to nip and suck at. Hunk's slick fingers moved in mimicry to Lance's mouth; circling, teasing, barely pressing, pulling back to wet every inch of skin within reach, until both Keith and Hunk were panting, squirming back towards the more-than-welcome wet intruders with every skid over hyper-sensitized skin.

  
Lance could have sworn for a moment he heard Hunk actually whimper.

It was Keith who finally managed to lift his head and grind out, “Lance, eat him like you fucking mean it you goddamned _tease_ ,” but the last word spiraled up into a screech when the darker-skinned man obeyed and Hunk's fingers mimicked the action of Lance's tongue suddenly diving in with vigor. His heels skidded on the sheets, and he could feel Hunk's moan rumble up the bottom of his lungs until it slid from his own throat. They moved together, the way they had for longer than he had known them, each shift and press and thrust in sync and driving them all mad. Memories of other times sparked through his mind, and he opened his mouth to speak again, to tell them what he wanted—because 'we communicate clearly here' had been the rule since the first time Hunk had told him Lance wanted him to join them and because sometimes they actually let him tell them what to do—and then Hunk's fingers found the tender spot inside him and he shrieked again. He almost couldn't hear Hunk's muffled string of words over the sudden ringing in his ears.

“--fuckohfuckohyesLancetheredon'tstopohgodpleasepleaseplease _please_ \--” Keith didn't have to imagine what Lance's tongue was doing; Hunk's fingers were still mimicking the motions, sliding and circling and pressing against Keith's prostate again and again. The half-breed turned his head to bite at the pillow, Hunk's other hand having dug into the mattress beside his shoulder. Keith spared a brief, grateful thought towards the ring around his cock that kept him from coming and another, slightly dazed one that Hunk hadn't done so himself yet.

The muffled sob against his ribs was the only warning he got before Hunk's fingers withdrew, and he objected to their absence with a choked mewl he was immediately ashamed of. He lifted his head dazedly and blinked at Lance, who pressed a quick, closemouthed kiss to Hunk's flank before getting up to dig through the side drawer for the mouthwash he kept there. The smell of mint filled the small room, and both dark-haired men on the bed tried desperately to catch their breath to the sounds of Lance rinsing out his mouth in the attached bathroom.

Keith reached up to twine his fingers with the ones buried in the sheets beside him, giving Hunk a slight smile when the darker-skinned man raised his head. He nodded slightly, mouthed the word 'together,' and shuddered when Hunk gave him a wicked grin in response and nipped at his left nipple. “Sweetheart, you already made that choice,” the Samoan chuckled, tightening his fingers around Keith's as the paler man writhed beneath him.

A wash of minty breath huffed over both of them as Lance returned to the bed. “I could totally just watch, you know,” he noted with a grin, admiring the stark contrast of Hunk's copper-kissed brown skin against Keith's pale off-white crisscrossed with slightly purple scars, “I mean, shit. I could look at this forever.” He leaned down to kiss Keith, running his fingers through Hunk's hair and tipping his head once he pulled away to admire the sight of Keith desperately trying to grind himself against the cushioned muscles of Hunk's chest. His eyes focused down further, to where Hunk's erection throbbed between the tensed muscles of his powerful thighs, and he wet his lips, giving Keith a sidelong wink. “Then again,” he dragged the words out, sliding the tips of his fingers over both of his lovers as he resumed his place behind Hunk, “who wouldn't want to guide that perfect dick right into Keith's tight little ass?” He finished the question in Hunk's ear and gave it a nip.

Hunk hadn't even seen him grab or open the condom, but as Lance rolled it onto him, it felt like torture. He turned his head, sitting back slightly so Keith could watch Lance warming up a generous palmful of lube with one hand while he stroked the condom into place with the other. He buried his face against the side of Lance's neck, letting go of Keith's hand to sit back on his heels and lean against the skinny Cuban. “How are you still so bad at sex talk?” He huffed into the other's neck.

“What are you talking about?” Lance could barely manage a thread of false indignation past the husk in his voice. “I am great at sex talk. Aren't I, Keith?” Blue eyes sought out fixated blue-grey, Keith's eyes full of questioning. “Hah, see, all he can think about now,” Lance purred, “is you, inside him while he begs for more. While he whines and growls and does that perfect little squeak when you hit him in the right spot, where he'd come if he didn't have the ring on, again, and again, and again...” Lance lowered his head and lightly scraped his teeth over Hunk's shoulder. “While he gets tighter, and tenses, and twitches, until all you can do is--”

“Lance,” Hunk sounded slightly strained, grabbing the skinnier man's wrist, “you gotta let me do it if I'm gonna make it that long.” He didn't, however, stop Lance's strokes, or the way his hips rolled leisurely into them.

“You take it back?”

“Fff--” The big man laughed breathlessly, licking sweat from Lance's neck. “I take it back, you are great at sex talk.”

“Damn right,” Lance planted a kiss over where he'd nibbled and lifted his hands, “go on, then. I'll be right there.” He gave Keith another wink, helping the paler man lift one leg up over one of Hunk's arms so he could spread himself further, and caught his breath at the way Keith's eyes crossed and fluttered closed as Hunk pushed into him. He shifted his attention to Hunk, who was biting the inside of his lip and panting as he stared right back while sinking into Keith up to the hips. Lance felt his entire body shudder, and it sounded like someone else who whispered, “move,” into the sticky semi-darkness.

Without blinking or looking away, Hunk obeyed, pulling out carefully and sliding back into Keith as the smaller man whined beneath him. He shuddered; the muscles of his back tensed, but he kept himself to slow, measured thrusts and watched Lance start to come undone just watching them. He was aware of Lance fumbling for the condoms and lube in his peripheral vision, but his entire world was the skinny man beneath him and the pair of drowning blue eyes that couldn't look away. Lance came closer, and he knew that because when he pulled back, he felt himself pushing against a slender finger on which the lube was still slightly cool. He welcomed the new sensation with a stifled groan and a little more speed, which made Keith pull the pillow out from under his head to wrap it over his face.

They stopped. They _stopped_.

Keith squirmed and bucked and whined, but finally lifted the pillow from his face to pout at them. His breath caught when both pairs of eyes, blue and brown, locked on his face. Hunk snatched the pillow from his grasp with very little effort and started moving again. He tried to cover his mouth with his hand; Lance twined the fingers of his free hand with it and pinned it to the bed, and Keith realized he was behind Hunk now, had to have been inside him, and whined again.

Lance shifted, Hunk mimicked him, Keith begged. They wouldn't look away. He closed his eyes and bit his lip to try to muffle himself; they _stopped_ until he looked back at them. He lost himself in it; the intensity with which they watched him come apart, they way they moved together, the sound of sweaty flesh and raspy breathing and ragged whines turning overwhelming, starting to turn painful, until Lance whispered, Hunk gripped the cockring and pressed the release to slide it off with one last thrust.

  
Several minutes went by before Lance found his voice. “I think he passed out again,” he noted, carefully sliding out of Hunk and taking a long drink of water, then offering the glass to the Samoan.

“He definitely passed out again,” Hunk agreed, finishing the glass and handing it back to Lance to get up to refill, “I'll hold him while you change the sheets?”

“Yeah, babe, I'm not gonna make you sleep on the wet spot,” Lance chuckled, setting the refilled glass within Keith's reach on the bedside table, “Just be careful, yeah? Last time you had noodle legs and wound up on the floor.” He started untucking the sheets while Hunk gathered himself together and then Keith up in his arms.

“Oh my gosh _one time_.”


End file.
